Iskra
An unholy glow lit up in his eyes. It was different from the manic ovulation period. He didn’t strip—just stood there pulling his cock out of his trousers.
Although he did say he’d be quick.
I had to admit, his dick stood out against the dark navy of his trousers—the fabric expensive, the cut precise, the kind of suit that cost more than most people’s monthly salary.
Above it the crisp white shirt was still perfectly buttoned, the dark navy tie knotted with the same deliberate precision he applied to everything.
The jacket sat immaculate across his broad shoulders.
Everything above the waist—controlled, composed, entirely the Pakhan.
Everything below it—a different matter entirely.
“Balcony,” he said, nodding toward the doors.
Maybe I hit him too hard.
“Get out on the balcony,” he said, when I didn’t move.
I stared at the tall panelled glass doors.
“You want me to go out onto the balcony?” I asked, wondering if he was considering tossing me over it.
His patience expired. His fingers curled around my wrist and he pulled me across the room with him.
The snap of the lock.
Then the cold.
It hit immediately—not the managed warmth of indoors but the sharp edge of a Chernograd spring night rushing in, carrying the smell of wet soil and something just waking up underneath it. Damp moss. Budding trees. The cold of a season that hadn’t quite decided to be warm yet.
He placed my hands on the stone railing.
Cold. Smooth at the surface but not quite—the texture of old stone worn by years of frost and thaw, slightly granular under my palms. My fingers found the edge and held.
“Don’t move those hands,” he growled, and pushed my velvet top up the length of my body.
A gust of wind stole my breath before he’d even finished. He pushed my bra up with the top until my breasts hung free beneath me, exposed to the night air. My nipples hardened instantly, painfully, the cold finding them without mercy.
I blinked down at the grounds below. Patches of snow still holding on in the shadowed corners.
More dark soil showing through now—the thaw making slow progress, the same thaw that had started all of this, months ago, when the ice fractured on the river and the merchandise began to move and a photograph of a girl in a pale blue dress landed on a table.
His hands moved to my waistband.
“Vadim,” I implored.
My trousers dropped around my feet.
My fingers tightened on the cold stone. The damp scent of moss and budding earth rose up from below, more prominent now, filling my lungs with every shallow breath.
Another gust of wind. My nipples tightened further and I shivered against the railing.
He peeled the lace of my underwear to one side, baring my pussy.
“Let’s leave these on. I wouldn’t want you to catch a chill,” he mused, nestling his cock between my cheeks.
“I didn’t hit you hard enough,” I muttered, as another uncontrollable shiver worked its way down my spine.
He leaned over me and I was instantly grateful for the heat of him—his chest against my back, his suited arms bracketing me, the warmth cutting through the cold air that had been finding every exposed inch of skin.
His hands moved from my hips, warm palms sliding over my ribs before settling over my breasts. I moaned and pushed back against him, telling myself it was entirely for the warmth. Nothing else.
“Barely touched you and I can already feel your pussy weeping for me,” he murmured beside my ear.
My response was to rock my ass and pussy along the length of his cock, dragging myself against him, my bare skin grazing the expensive fabric of his trousers. His fingers tightened over my breasts. Then they edged downward until he reached my nipples.
Distant voices.
My eyes snapped open.
“Someone’s coming,” I gasped, trying to straighten up, but his fingers clamped down on my nipples before I could move.
“Ah-ah,” he hummed. “You don’t move. Let them see their Pakhan fuck his wife.”
I held very still and listened. The voices grew closer, carried on the spring air—men talking, unhurried, doing their rounds. I still couldn’t see anyone below. But I could hear them.
Vadim released my aching nipples.
The heavy weight of his cock landed between my cheeks, parting me slowly before he pushed inside. One hand locked on my hip. The other tangled into my hair and hauled my head up, arching my back, my hands the only thing keeping me anchored to the cold stone railing.
He drew back lazily before driving into me with a vicious thrust.
I cried out and clamped my lips together immediately. Too loud. Too much.
I began to pant as he started to swing his hips — driving deeper, harder, the cold air hitting my chest with every forward rock of my body against the railing.
Then I saw them.
Two heads below.
Radovan and Tau.
Radovan was pointing along the garden path, gesturing toward something in the grounds, entirely absorbed in the tour. They walked along the thawing path at an unhurried pace, breath misting in the spring air.
Vadim must have noticed too—because the bastard began to move faster.
His hand slipped from my hip and pushed beneath my underwear.
“Mudak,” I whispered, just as his fingers found my clit and began to circle.
As if he heard me, Tau turned.
His dark eyes found mine without effort—no scanning, no searching, just the immediate lock of a man whose awareness operated on a different level to everyone else’s. His gaze dropped lower, taking in exactly what was happening, just as Vadim thrust into me and knocked the air from my lungs.
Vadim must have seen him too.
Because he began to hammer into me—relentless, deliberate, each stroke driving my body forward against the railing, my breasts jerking with the impact, the cold stone biting into my palms.
I tried to lower my head.
His fist tightened in my hair.
“Let him watch,” he hissed against my ear. “So he knows I own you.”
I couldn’t look away. Tau hadn’t either—not yet.
Those dark eyes that had sent me running from my place at the staircase were trained on mine and they weren’t empty.
Something moved behind them. Something I couldn’t name before he looked away, said something quietly to Radovan, and guided him along the path and away from the house.
As though nothing had happened.
As though he had seen nothing worth mentioning.
“My, my,” Vadim drawled. “You’re dripping down the length of my cock.”
His hand shifted from my hair to my throat, holding me in place as his hips began to bounce off me. I couldn’t move, breathe or think — not when his fingers continued working my clit without mercy.
His cock punched upward with each stroke and the coil of tension built with every one of them. I could feel how wet his fingers were against my pussy. The ache in my muscles from being locked in his grip. The spring wind finding my nipples and making them ache in an entirely different way.
My jaw ached from clenching it shut.
Then he surged deep and hit something that pulled the sound out of me before I could stop it. I’d tried to hold on, tried to stall, but he left me no choice. The groan came out of me in a wave and I pushed against the stone beneath my hands, trying to absorb everything, trying to stay upright.
He gasped. His fingers twitched along my throat. He thrust rapidly—once, twice—and then sprayed my insides, jet after jet of hot come filling me while the cold air wrapped around us both.
All while I held onto the cold stone beneath my hands.
“D’yavol,” I panted.
Calling him what he was.
A devil.
“Demon,” he murmured into my ear, and bit me.
This marriage had altered me.
I had no defence for that. Not now. Not with his come still warm inside me and the spring air cold on my skin and Tau’s eyes somewhere in my memory that I couldn’t quite shake.
Then voices again, closer this time.
I elbowed him.
“Move, d’yavol,” I hissed.
He chuckled, but pulled back and helped me inside.
My new trousers lay on the balcony floor as Vadim locked the doors behind us.
I shook my head.
At least he had paid for them.
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Long after he left that night, I lay in bed toying with my rings, pulling the engagement ring off to trace the words around the gold band.
Property of Vadim.
The ring lay on my belly.
We were all an extension of the great Pakhan of Chernograd. His men. His city. His wife. His heir, whenever it arrived.
If I were brave enough I would have tossed it across the room.
Instead, I thrust it back onto my finger until it hit the wedding band.
With a heavy sigh, I closed my eyes and tried to sleep.